by Cethan Leahy
‘Miss?’
‘Yes, James?’
‘Why are we doing Hamlet now? It’s only transition year. Leaving Cert isn’t for, like, three years.’
‘I’m not letting transition year be a complete doss year. If we start preparing today, you’ll be more prepared later.’
Have you read Hamlet? It’s pretty good. Adam and I didn’t really understand the language in it but the plot is interesting. We watched a cartoon version of it, but it had lions in it, which are never mentioned in the play, so we watched a longer version with humans, which was really good. A depressed guy and the ghost that tells him to do stuff but he keeps finding excuses not to do it. I can relate.
Thirteen
After another week of tolerating the persistent existence of school, we unexpectedly found ourselves at the next weekend. This should have been a relief but it unnerved Adam. He had not seen his new friends since the previous Saturday and had begun to have doubts about their interest in continuing said friendship. He thought it best to not contact them with trivialities in case they would get sick of him too early. However, when they also didn’t message him he became convinced that they had probably forgotten about him, so meeting them now would be strange and awkward, and maybe staying in his room and deleting their numbers would be better for all concerned.
However, this situation resolved itself as he was required to leave the house for his session with Dr Moore on Saturday morning, which, of course, meant he would be an audience for Douglas’s exit.
Adam sat in the waiting room, worried about the upcoming moment of re-meeting.
‘What should I do when Douglas comes in?’ he said.
I suggested either a noncommittal hello, enthused reunion, or hiding behind the plant and hoping Douglas didn’t see him. But before he could make a decision, Douglas entered the room with his usual confidence and after his obligatory banter with the secretary, he stopped and pointed at Adam.
‘You, Hammer,’ he said.
‘Ah …’
‘Sorry, whatever your name is. Adam! – thank you, Dolores – you are required this afternoon. After this interrogation, come to the Merchant’s Quay Car Park. Top floor. We need five fine people to achieve a task and you seem like just the man for the job.’
‘I don’t know, I kinda have–’
‘I believe you have mistaken this for a choice. This is not a choice. See you at the car park. Top level.’ With that, Douglas walked out the door.
The session with Dr Moore was not especially interesting – it was established that Adam was still finding school a little tough and that he continued to find it difficult to discuss his feelings. After having some lunch, Adam headed to the car park, which was connected to a shopping centre.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I said.
‘Easy for you to say, I’m the one who has to act like a normal human being here.’
The top floor of the car park was open air, so you could really appreciate the grey sky. (This place. It’s always grey skies.) Leaning over a wall, the foursome already there were staring at the expanse of the city, which also looked grey.
‘Hey, Adam,’ said Aoife.
‘Hey.’
‘Excellent, you’ve arrived. We can begin,’ said Douglas.
‘So what is the big task?’ asked Adam nervously.
‘Oh, yes, the plan is to collect five individuals and stand on the roof of a car park,’ said Douglas. ‘Perhaps we will discuss nonsense. I haven’t decided.’
‘Top plan,’ said Linda.
‘Inspired,’ said Aoife.
‘Oh. Well, I’m never the one to break up a good plan. I guess I can stand in place too,’ said Adam, a little relieved that it wasn’t some manner of prank that would rely on him doing something cool. He would be unlikely to meet such a challenge.
‘Sterling work,’ said Douglas.
‘Excellent,’ said Aoife.
‘An asset to the team,’ said Linda. ‘Actually, since you are here, Barry has a question for you.’
Barry cleared his throat.
‘Are you gay?’ he said in a practical tone.
‘Ah, no.’
‘Crap.’
‘Sorry.’ Adam really regretted disappointing people. I considered this to be an unfortunate trait.
‘I’d better explain. Barry is insisting on there being a second gay person in our group before he comes out,’ said Linda, who was rolling a cigarette.
‘I have my reasons,’ Barry said.
‘Ridiculous reasons,’ sighed Linda.
‘You see, if I come out, I’ll be the gay one of the group. People will be like “Do you know Barry?” “No” “Oh, you know him. HE IS THE GAY ONE.”’
‘You prefer to be known as the guy with the dumb jumper he wears every day?’ said Linda.
‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ said Barry, crossing his arms.
‘So you’ve not leaving the closet.’
‘Not until we make another gay friend. If there are two of us, it can’t be the defining characteristic, so then I can come out.’
‘Okay. We could make friends with Alan,’ said Aoife.
‘Eugh, not Alan. He’s a prick.’
‘Right. Sinead?’
‘No, she’s a lesbian. That won’t solve anything.’
‘Should we make friends with her anyway? She is pretty cool,’ said Linda.
‘Yes. Yes, we should. But first we need to solve this.’
‘I’m not sure if we know any more gay guys, unless … Douglas, did you decide if you were or not?’
‘Irrelevant! As you know, I have taken a vow of celibacy in order to fully concentrate on my music, ergo my sexual preference is a meaningless concept and will not be relevant until I later write my autobiography.’
‘Adam, are you sure you’re not gay? It would be handy.’
Adam shrugged. I didn’t think he was gay. (Certain searches on Google I’ve seen him entering would back up this assertion. Also I noticed that his eyes had a habit of lingering on one of the females in our party a second too long to be completely innocent.) But he was new to the group, so he didn’t want to disappoint.
‘Well, I guess I can’t be sure. Don’t they say that sexuality is fluid and–’
‘Hey, you kids! I thought I told ye to ged away from it,’ shouted a security guard who had just spotted them. He began to walk in our direction so the group decided to move on.
‘We want equality! I don’t see why only cars can park here. Why not humans?’ said Douglas as a parting shot.
And just like that, the gang was back on the street.
‘What now?’ said Barry.
They thought for a moment in silence.
‘Stand outside Lidl?’ suggested Aoife.
‘Yeah, okay,’ said Douglas.
They did so for several hours.
Fourteen
Now that Adam’s sleep was more regular, I was able to traipse around town on a near nightly basis. Since I had seen what the city looked like during the day, I could appreciate now how different it was at night, the glow of the amber streetlights and the dark river rippling beneath the city. (That said, I had been encouraging Adam to take more naps in the middle of the day so I could go exploring on my own in daylight as well. However, he usually had excuses like ‘I have to eat lunch’, ‘I have to go to school’, or ‘No, I’m not doing that.’)
That Saturday night I decided to go to the Grand Parade, the central street where fast food joints, loud bars and the city library happily coexisted. There was the large fountain, where people gathered to kiss and fight and eat chicken burgers. It was a marvellous, regular sight in my jaunts and featured all kinds of tensions. I was too early though, that evening, as the mad stuff usually happens around 2 a.m., so I was about to leave when I spotted a familiar face.
Turning the corner on Tuckey Street, there was a trio of young guys about Adam’s age but dressed older. They moved in a line of three and in the centre was Philip, the guy whose brother had
shuffled off this mortal coil. (Having heard so many euphemisms for death in the last couple of months from people talking to him, Adam started making a list of them. That one from Hamlet is my favourite, although Adam’s favourite is ‘snuffed out like a candle’. We stopped compiling when his mother found it, got frightened and told Dr Moore.)
The group passed the fountain and carried on to the end of the street, crossing the bridge there and walking along the river. I had never gone this way before and was surprised to see how dark the road was, despite not being far from the city centre. Eventually they ended up outside a pub, which looked closed though warm music flowed out of its windows.
‘You sure they’ll serve us?’
‘My sister used to go here all the time. They never check, as long as you aren’t being obvious about it.’
They opened the door and the leak of music burst out. Inside there was a group of people holding instruments I didn’t recognise, playing songs that somehow sounded both jaunty and melancholic. The boys found a small table in the corner, lit only by a candle in an old wine bottle.
‘Eugh, Ross, did we have to come for trad night? I want some choons, not “The English killed my dog and now I’m bummed”,’ said one, who I now recognised as Matt from school, the cheerfully morbid one.
‘You wanted a pint. Here we can get one,’ said Ross. ‘Also, show a bit of respect, man. Men died for Ireland.’
Philip coughed.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ross, who took this as his signal to go to the bar, presumably as he looked the oldest. He ordered three large glasses of dark, black liquid. On TV, teenagers only drank fizzy golden beers if they were drinking at all, so this stuff was new to me. They took a while to pour too. It looked like there were miniature storms inside the glasses as the drinks settled on the bar.
Eventually, when they were done, Ross gathered up the three pints in his hands and set them down on the table, pushing one towards each of his friends.
‘To Chris,’ he offered.
They clinked their drinks and all took a sup.
‘Jesus, Ross. It’s like drinking old coffee,’ said Matt.
‘You get into it. Also, old fellas drink this, so they would never suspect ya.’
Philip took a big gulp. He didn’t seem to enjoy it.
‘Anyway, Chris was definitely one of the good ones,’ said Ross.
Philip paused a moment before responding. ‘I remember one summer when we were kids. We were at the beach. He told me to start crying, out of nowhere. He said he would let me play his Nintendo DS or something if I did. So I did. Just wailing like a big baby, while he announced loudly, “I’ll get it for you, little brother.” Then he ran into the water and swam out to a ball that was just floating out there. He caught it, came back in and gave it to me. “Thanks, Chris?” I said, a bit confused, but then he winked at a girl a few feet away. She smiled and she came over to talk to him.’
‘The dog!’
‘Who owned the ball?’
‘No idea. He got the shift though.’
They burst out laughing, distracting the bearded fellow on the table next to them from his crossword. Philip’s laughter began to tremble.
‘He was so cool and confident. I don’t know why he would …’
‘Phil, it’s something you can’t predict. My uncle committed suicide and he always seemed as happy as can be.’
‘I guess.’ Philip looked sadly into his pint. Evidently the time for fun stories had ceased.
‘It’s a bit of epidemic, isn’t it?’ said Matt. ‘My ma reckons it comes in waves. One person tops himself, other people see it and decide it’s a good idea and they do the same thing which leads–’
‘Jesus, Matt, shut up,’ said Ross.
‘Like you had a couple around Cork last year, not far from me actually. It’s super scary. Sure there was that Adam guy who tried it at the start of the summer. I asked him about it, but you know him, wouldn’t say boo to a mouse. Argh! Why are you kicking my leg?’
‘Because I can’t reach your head.’
Philip got up and downed the rest of his pint in one go. ‘I’m getting another,’ he said and walked up to the bar.
‘Three Mu–’
‘ID.’
‘Sorry, I left it at home.’
‘Sorry, kid, there’s no way I’m serving you. The guards are locking down on this.’
I’ve seen mourning people in TV shows before. This was usually the moment all their rage and frustration comes to a boil and they explode at an innocent bystander. Their friends come to hold them back and then they break down in full view of everyone.
This did not happen. Instead he just nodded. ‘Eh, I wanted to go home anyway.’
He walked out without telling his two friends and tried to get a taxi. After ten minutes of failing, he gave up and walked all the way back to his house. I remained beside him, watched him text apologies to his friends waiting for their drinks. The entire hour it took to walk home, he just kept looking at his phone. On it, he was searching the Internet for the term ‘copycat suicides’.
Fifteen
The third stall in the first floor bathroom was occupied, as were all of them. I have no theories on what class preceded this lunch break that would account for five bathroom stalls being completely full, but as it so happened the bowels aligned and Adam was locked out of his lunchtime fortress of solitude.
Once a stall opened, he rushed in. However, his breath of relief was interrupted almost immediately by someone knocking on the door.
‘Come on, I’m turtle-heading here,’ the voice shouted.
‘Coming!’
Adam flushed the toilet and hid his half-eaten sandwich in his pocket. Being caught eating in the toilet was unlikely to do his reputation many favours. He exited and the kid rushed in past him. Looking around, there were a load of students in there, so Adam washed his hands slowly in the hope that they would disappear soon and he could return to his enamel protector. They didn’t, however, so for the first time since he came back Adam was going to have to spend his lunch break in the lunchroom.
In my company, Adam had watched quite a few movies about American high schools on his laptop and I have noticed that there is always a bit where the main character – a guileless young white person – walks into the canteen or whatever and the sarcastic student who has randomly befriended him moments earlier (perhaps it’s a form of charity they perform) outlines the various cliques that occupy the schools: jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, Goths, stoners – all garden-variety teens. At first our hero is confused and overwhelmed by this strict tribalism, since he came from the one school in movies that doesn’t have this, but by the end he finds himself in a group of like-minded people, the attractive girl likes him and everything works out. Hurray!
Adam’s school does not work like this.
First, there are no girls and there aren’t really any cliques, per se. There are definitely some students more popular than others and some are just definitely assholes (these guys congregate next to the prefab outside), but as far as I can tell everyone else moves fairly smoothly between groups, as if it’s one large ocean of blue blazers. This fluidity of people you’d think would make it difficult for Adam to hide, but the opposite was true. Adam was able to keep up the pretence that he had friends since no one thought he was missing from their group. They assumed he belonged to someone but not to them.
So for this lunch break, to avoid detection of being a big loser, he found a large circle of people having a chat and placed himself at the edge, looking in. His presence was acknowledged but the circle did not widen to include him. Adam was content with this arrangement as it involved no interaction on his part. He didn’t even have to listen to what was being talked about.
As the circle chatted, Adam finished his sandwich and noticed that there was a new poster on the wall. Drawn like a comic book, it featured a kid in a hoodie standing waist deep in what looked like black quicksand. Above it was written in large red letters: �
��Sinking? Ask for Help.’
Adam stared at it.
‘What do you think, Adam?’ said the principal, who no one had seen step up behind us. This scared most of the circle and they scattered like mice.
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ said Adam.
‘So, that’s a good thing to remember. Always ask for help,’ the principal said, meaningfully.
‘Ah, ahem, why are these up?’ said Adam.
‘Oh, we thought it would be a good idea after what happened with Chris. Two incidents in a row like that … we have to start being more careful about our students’ mental health.’
‘I don’t think it’s contagious,’ said Adam with a surprising edge to his voice, which the principal ignored.
‘Not at all what we’re suggesting. We just are now aware that your particular problem is not so particular. In fact, since you appear to have made great strides within yourself, you may be excited to hear about our new event.’
Adam seemed less than thrilled. ‘New event?’
‘Yes, we are organising a day of talks and initiatives on mental health. We want to really reach out with some helpful advice.’
‘I recommend not trying to kill yourself with a hammer.’
The principal tutted. ‘Humour is important, Adam. I can see that. But I think it would be more helpful to show the rest of the student body that you are a survivor and that suicide is a bad idea, instead of making jokes about how not to do it.’
‘Sure,’ said Adam, with a slight blush.
Just then the bell rang. Lunch was over and we could escape.
As they had spoken, I had noticed a minor detail on the poster. Some wit had written the words ADAM ON HIS WAY TO MEET CHRIS with an arrow pointing at the half-submerged boy. I thought it best not to mention it.
***
Sitting and listening, and more sitting and writing, each hour identical to the last. God, why must this whole school business persist? The monotony was driving me mad. We were in the science lab after lunch, which at least looked different from the rest of the classrooms and provided opportunities to look at fire.
